"You see I did," said Mrs. Lowell, "and here are the cushions. Will you take them, please?" The boy picked them up and they set forth. As they crossed the piazza, Mrs. Lowell nodded to Miss Emerson and the two men with her. These followed the pair with their eyes as they descended the steps, and started across the field. "By Jove, that young nut is in luck," said Mr. Evans, a short, thick-set man, with spectacles. "Why, do you think Mrs. Lowell is so attractive?" asked Miss Emerson. "Of course. Don't you?" "Why, I think she's a very good-looking woman," was the reply. "Her husband is coming up later." Mr. Evans shook his head mournfully. "I'm afraid it won't make any difference to me. I've tried to prattle to her a little, but she doesn't hear me, or, if she does, I've been weighed and found wanting. I talked to her quite a while my first morning here. As soon as I saw her I determined to make hay while the sun shone, but I soon found I couldn't make any, or even cut any ice either. So, since then, I just look at her from afar." "I'm sure you're too easily discouraged," said Miss Emerson with some acerbity. "You underrate your own attractiveness, Mr. Evans. Any woman who would rather spend her time with that poor, forlorn image of a boy than with men of intellect, cannot be so very interesting, herself." Mr. Pratt, a tall, slender, long-necked gentleman, here spoke: "I judge from what Mr. Gayne says that the boy is pretty far gone mentally. He said he supposed he really shouldn't have brought him up here. Gayne has a heavy burden on his hands evidently. It's naturally hard to bring one's self to shutting up any one who is your own kin, and, as Gayne says, you're between the devil and the deep sea, for you may put it off too long. It looks like a case of dangerous melancholia to me." Miss Emerson shuddered. "All I know is that if Mrs. Lowell was as sensitive as I am, she never in the world could bear to have that boy around with her as much as she does. Mr. Gayne, an artist as he is! What he must suffer in that constant association!" "He doesn't seem to be much with his nephew," remarked Mr. Evans. "Well, I should think rooming with him was enough," retorted the lady. "He has a cot for the boy right in his own room." "Well, it isn't my business," yawned the other. "Come on, Pratt. I hear they've taken a horse-mackerel and it's down on the wharf. Let's go and see it." "Oh, I think those giant fish are so interesting!" exclaimed Miss Emerson, sitting up alertly. Mr. Evans nodded at her over his shoulder as the two friends started off. "After your siesta you ought to get Miss Wilbur and come down," he said. "I don't want any siesta," thought the lady crossly. "Why did I get into this hammock? They would probably have asked me if I hadn't been lying down."